You Know I'm No Good
by TheHarlequinRevolver
Summary: Spinoff to the fic Smoke In Mirrors! Set after SR3 Save Shaundi ending, kind of AU to my other fic but not quite. After scouring the gyms of Carver Island, Liz realized that she never really gave Angel's gym a chance. Eager to get back into the shape of her Stilwater days, there's just one problem: Angel hates her. Can she try to mend the relationship? Might not be a oneshot. R&R!
1. Chapter 1

_**Hey guys, this is just a little AU/spinoff for Smoke in Mirrors. It uses Liz as a character, but it's a pairing that I usually don't ship. Fem!BossxAngel is really good and I don't frequently see it on here. This isn't exactly a direct love story, so if you want that, leave. It's more of an unrequited thing. Just read and enjoy and look for the next chapter of Smoke in Mirrors. PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! **_

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There was only one suitable gym on Carver Island that was potentially up to Liz's standards.

Steelport had fucked the rest of them over with steroids and pretty ladies waiting outside for a sweaty, ripped Luchadore. They all had interiors of stark gray and were filled with worn out machines that were potentially older than her. Not a single woman dared to step inside, which wasn't what was stopping her. It was the attitude, the harsh looks of irritation plastered upon the men's faces, the pimply faced teenager that ran the front desk and constantly asked her if she wanted a permanent membership. It felt like the same kid worked at every place, and each time her desire to punch him in the face increased.

That wasn't what she wanted.

She wanted to find someone _better_ than her that ran a gym; someone with talent and a fighting drive that could take her down and make her scream like a scared little bitch. And if he couldn't do that, having someone that was at least a good fight would entertain her for a couple hours. She'd even pay extra if he was good looking and let her smoke inside. The man that fit that description was Angel de la Muerte. She just didn't know it yet.

Fortunately, this man was her former lieutenant and lived right near her in his own beaten gym.

Carver was the island right next door to her Sunset Park penthouse. It was a fifteen minute drive or a couple minutes away by helicopter, which was the only reason why she would go there to work out. It was the heart of the former Luchadore territory and was dotted with countless places she could visit at her own pleasure. Flashing some skin or a pistol got her anywhere in this town, so price was never a problem. After trying all these places and wielding the same results every time, she confined herself to the penthouse gym. It was satisfactory for a while, but it wasn't what she was looking for.

After the takeover of Steelport, Angel's Gym was the only place she hadn't tried. She had made an appearance there numerous times, but never had she actually trained with the man she had screwed over. She knew that if she even stepped foot in the old, rickety casino-gym that she would be pounded to the floor. It wasn't that she couldn't resist Angel's fighting; it was just that even Liz was capable of feeling a little guilt. If she had been in his shoes, she knew she would have been livid. Killbane was the one man he despised, and without her help getting to him was impossible. She had turned her back on one of her newest lieutenants for the newbie and her number one girl. It had obviously left a bad taste in his mouth, which was why they had only spoken a few times since the Syndicate had been destroyed. Nonetheless, she still felt bad for what she did. Never would she apologize to Angel, but she felt like maybe a proper fight might be in order.

And that's just what Liz was setting out to do: find a new gym and try to let Angel roughen her up a little. If she was lucky, she could find both in the same place. As she drove towards Bridgeport in her steamy red Torch, she couldn't help but think of how far she went back with Angel. She had known him before arriving in Steelport. After the second Stilwater takeover she had a small fling with him in his wrestling heyday. The breakup was mutual and left no scars, but she didn't talk to him until she arrived in her new city. After he had joined the Saints, he had thrown so many things at her when he was training her for Killbane: driving with tigers, driving on a flaming ATV, and committing insurance fraud were only some of the things the seemingly deranged man made her to. It almost felt like he was pushing her to see how far she would go.

Now felt like the time for her to push his buttons as she passed by his gym's expansive parking lot. It wouldn't have been troublesome for her to find a spot; the place was literally closed down. However, she felt obliged to pull her car into the gym's personal garage that was on the side. She knew it wasn't the best idea considering that the only entrance from the garage led into Angel's personal quarters, but it didn't faze her. She slid out of her car and threw her keys into the pocket of her skintight jeans. Her heels clacked as she went up the concrete stairs leading to the gym.

It was time to have some fun with her favorite Luchadore.

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A beautiful Latina voice echoed out of the aged speakers of Angel's gym. He looked around; he was completely and utterly alone like he usually was. Today most likely wouldn't be different from any other day. He would train, defrost a frozen pizza, eat, train a bit more and then try to go to sleep. Not defeating Killbane for the second time had begun to give him bouts of insomnia. The glory he had found with the Saints was no more; he was now a nobody in his wasteland again, silently plotting his second attempt at revenge.

Although he demasked his former partner and brought the ultimate shame, the fight wasn't over. He landed a punch in his punching bag as the image of cracking Killbane's neck came into his mind. The sound of each bone in his body disintegrating brought satisfaction to his mind. But alas, those sounds would be only a dream until he was able to locate the man who had ruined his career.

He stood in the middle of his ancient wrestling ring and fought only a fake opponent. It took on many faces, not just Killbane's. Sometimes it was the face of a lone Luchadore, other times it was of a cop.

This time, the face had morphed. He had looked away for a few moments to wipe the sweat accumulating on his forehead. When he looked back, he could see the face of a woman. He couldn't call her beautiful, as that would have been an overstatement. A scarred, muscular body took the place of the punching bag, and through his delusional vision he could see the leader of the Saints standing before him. He reached out and socked her across the face. He could only feel the cloth of the sandy bag, not the softness of her cheeks.

If Killbane was the man who ruined his life, Liz had to be his female counterpart.

She had promised so much for him if he joined the Saints: power, glory, girls, and, most importantly, revenge. He had gotten all of those things, but the one thing that he had truly wanted didn't last for long.

He remembered the adrenaline rushing through his veins as he called her that one last time.

"I can't hold off STAG for long!" he said. "Get your ass over here so we can destroy his plane!"

She never responded after that sentence. He would figure out after the fact that two of her three best girls were being held hostage on Magarac Island at that very same second. If she hadn't gone, they would have been blown to shreds. He couldn't blame her for the rational decision. After all, she was a gang leader. He knew enough about her to know that she really knew what she was doing with the Saints. She had her dopey moments, but if you told her to kick your ass you knew she would do it in an instant.

His fists lunged into her gut, sending the bag down to the ground. By this point he was absolutely seething with emotions. If the real Liz had been there, he would have beaten her down twice as bad. Blood would be pouring out of her full lips and their matching brown eyes would meet with two different expressions. Hers would be pouring out tears of defeat, while his would be filled with total triumph.

He paused for a minute and looked at her "body" on the floor. His eyes slammed shut and opened a few seconds later to see the destroyed punching bag lying limply on the ground.

That's what insomnia would do to a guy like him; visions of people he loved to hate.

People he hated to love.

"Ang, you here?"

His heart stopped for a mere moment. That voice sounded all too familiar.

"What do you want?" he sputtered. He sounded like an upset child waiting for her to show herself. She was right by the west entrance of the building, he could sense it. He knew she had walked in through his room and saw the terrible disarray of his objects. She had probably taken a slice of his pizza and eaten it before opening the pair of double doors leading to the gym. He knew her actions to a T, and beating her this time would be all too easy.

"Look, I know you don't give a fuck, but-"

Her elusive voice began to get stuck in the back of his mind. She was getting closer now.

He bit down on his lip and drew a bit of irony blood. The image of pinning her against the wall flew into his head and a hint of a smile crept onto his face.

It was perfect. Now was the time to make a move.

Without thinking, he sprinted in the direction he had heard her voice. His bare chest was soaked along with his Saints purple track pants. He lunged at the first body he could see, which was indeed the correct target.

"Goddamn it!" she howled. He pushed her back into the closed set of doors from which she entered and let his fingers wrap around her neck.

"Don't you see what you did?" he grumbled. She gasped for air and let her free arms grab her neck, which was now red from his scarred, tan hands. This man was obviously more insane than when she first met him in Steelport. _This_ was his retribution and her apology.

Letting herself go under his control was something she couldn't let happen entirely. Getting out of being strangled was no easy task. She had done it before, but now was going to be totally different. She pressed her rapidly numbing legs up against the metal doors separating her from freedom. Ever so slightly, she pushed her legs up against the door and kicked.

"You robbed me of the one thing I ever wanted!" His voice rose slightly and she grimaced.

Slipping out of his grip would be easy, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. Oxygen continued to be cut off to her and she was forced to kick at the door limply until it budged and listen to him speak.

"You could've let me have just one of the things you promised me! You promised me he'd be dead by the time we were done with him! It was supposed to be the both of us reigning over Steelport. Look what happened to me now! You're all alone up top, and I hope you're fucking happy!" His voice had escalated to a yell now, and by the time he finished his sentence Liz had managed enough strength to kick down the door. She grunted and let out a heavy kick, sending the doors open. The two of them stumbled into a wall; the same position they had been in seconds before.

Both his hands had wandered elsewhere; his left one onto her waist and his right up to the wall. She had her pressed against his naked chest in preparation to push him off. It was undoubtedly awkward with the history they had together.

The Boss leaned into him, her voice croaky from the pressure on her neck. She glimpsed into his bloodshot chocolate eyes and smiled.

"That's not how you treat a lady." she purred. He backed off of her and gave her a glare.

"Why would you even come here?" he asked, his glower intensifying. Her expression changed from sultry to absolutely serious.

"I need someplace to train." she said politely. Angel knew where this was going.

"Try another gym, we're closed."

She chuckled.

"We?" she asked. "Who else is in here?"

Angel crossed his arms and made his way back into the main part of the gym. Despite being a total idiot, she had a way with words when she didn't try hard. Most of the time it was because she was drunk, but that wasn't the point.

"I'm done with you being a smartass. Keep up that act and you won't be going back home. If you came here to train, you'd better be ready to do some actual work."

"Oh," she started. "I'm ready."

Within a few seconds, she reached down for the button to her jeans and undid them. After sliding down the zipper, she peeled the sausage casing off and revealed a pair of shorts that were just as tight. She then reached for her shirt and pulled it off ungracefully. After adjusting her halter bra, she looked around.

"You don't expect me to do this in heels, don't you?"

"I got a pair of boots in the back. No guarantee they'll fit you." he answered. She frowned and went into the backroom.

"Then it'll be a challenge…" she mumbled.

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_**And yes, the headcanon that Liz and Angel dated when he was still actively wrestling is true. I haven't exactly introduced in in SiM because the right time hasn't come. Please review if you liked/disliked the story and leave constructive criticism! It's always appreciated!**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey guys, thanks for the feedback on this. I feel like this little thing has only one or two chapters left in it, so enjoy and _PLEASE REVIEW_!**

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Angel's back room was filled with the necessities that any wrestler would need; headgear, knee pads, mouth guards, and even more items that Liz hadn't seen for years. The equipment hadn't been used in a long time. Each item had its own way of showing its age; some things were totally falling apart while others merely had a few scuffs. Either way, the room was clearly filled of memories for the wrestler. She smiled and ran her fingers over the pair of boots he had mentioned. Their purple color had faded long ago; the scuffed paint and lack of polish really made them show their true age. She recalled Angel wearing them when they had met after a match an eternity ago. It had only been a few years before, but with the Saints' sudden rise to fame, everything in Stilwater seemed like it was ten years ago. She remembered his match vividly; it had been so jaw dropping that she still hadn't forgotten it to this day. In fact, she had taken her whole crew along to see it at the Ultor Dome. They all went due to the hype everyone had made about it. Liz had had low expectations but bought great seats nonetheless. The crew deserved it, and getting ringside tickets and backstage passes were easy for them due to their higher status.

She had been dead wrong about the match. Instead of tag teaming it with Eddie "Killbane" Pryor, Angel had gone solo against another notable wrestler. With the odds against him, Angel had managed to win big. His moves were other worldly and much more impressive than Liz had been expecting. She even admitted there was a lot she could learn from him. When the Saints went backstage, he had been overwhelmingly surprised about the Boss' enthusiasm. It was his seriousness and good looks that had won him a personal invitation to the Purgatory that night. Ironically enough, a week or so later, Angel had been publically demasked and went into hiding due to the shame brought onto him. His temporary glory had been suddenly stripped from him, which was a feeling Liz could identify with a little too much.

Sighing, she threw the pair of boots onto her feet. Although her little fling with the Luchadore had only lasted about a week, she still had some sort of attachment to him. Granted they had both moved on to bigger and better people, she couldn't help but wonder if something was there. He had been and still was at least ten years her senior, but that didn't seem to bother them at the time. The week she had spent with him had been one of the more fun ones of her life; if they weren't fooling around in the ring, they were hanging out in Angel's private bedroom in the gym.

She laced up the barely there boots and scowled. She knew that the age difference wasn't what was keeping them apart at the moment. His apparent hatred for her and her actions had built a communication barrier between them. Wanting a romantic relationship wasn't what she had come here for. In fact, she didn't want one at all. She came to give him the retribution he deserved.

It was a simple plan: she would go in to the ring, fight him and let him win. Whatever kind of fight he would put up wouldn't be something that she couldn't handle. After all, it had been almost a year since Murderbrawl XXXI, and Angel hadn't been training as hard as had had been before. Or, at least that's what she thought.

Liz stood up and strode out of the backroom. Although she didn't like to lose, she could use a few new scars. Putting her ego aside didn't seem to be that hard to her. She peeked into the main room of the gym to see that Angel had moved his deformed punching bag out of the ring. The thoughts that were going on in his brain were completely different than the ones in hers. He wasn't intending to train with her; he wanted to see if he could make her fall.

She stopped for a moment to watch exactly what he was doing. He paused and began to wipe a few beads of perspiration off his forehead before turning his attention to the woman standing twenty feet away from him. A smile was the last thing you would see on his face. He was looking all too serious as Liz put a hand on her hip in anticipation. She was expecting one of his usual lectures on how she should focus more or how she should have prepared herself. It also could have been something about how drinking and smoking would eventually kill her, and even the "occasional" bag of weed has a negative effect on everyone.

Instead, he took a controlling stance in the middle of the ring. With his arms crossed and glossy with sweat, he took a few steps to the edge of the platform to take a good look at her. He analyzed her up and down and frowned disapprovingly.

"Get your ass up here and fight, we don't have all day." he snarled deeply. "And those clothes aren't going to protect you much." Liz raised her eyebrows and slowly walked into the ring.

"At least I don't have a bare chest showing." she commented starkly.

Maybe losing wasn't going to be as easy as she thought it would be. If Angel was going to put up a good fight and kept acting like this, winning would feel irresistible. The feeling of conquering someone made her adrenaline pump through her like a drug. After he didn't respond to her comments, she felt that it was time to push his buttons.

"Don't go easy on me, old man." she teased.

Before she could take another breath, a fist collided with her cheek, causing her hand to soar up to her face. Pain echoed throughout her jaw and soon began to surge out to her head. After the initial blow, Angel didn't hesitate any longer. He released his anger through his fists, dealing only minor punches to the woman in front of him. It was hardly what one would consider wrestling.

"The piledrivers can wait…" he thought to himself. If the leader decided not to put up a fight, using good moves would be worthless.

He squinted at her through his adrenaline as she threw up her arms and narrowly dodged the hits. His knuckles collided with her rapidly swelling forearms every other second.

He was even giving her the upper hand by using more of a street fighting style, but she still resisted. It wasn't something he had ever seen from her; usually her feisty fighting style would shine through whenever it got the chance. Now, she was cowering like a pathetic new recruit.

In a sudden move, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her up. Instinctively, she began to pry out of his grip before abruptly giving up her strength. It was now all too obvious that she was trying to lose.

She felt sorry for him.

He hastily dropped her down onto the floor, her body landing with a loud thud. After standing up, she brushed off her tender skin and gave Angel the same glare he had been giving her just minutes ago.

"The fuck was that for?" she questioned, her breathing heavy. She didn't have the energy to raise her tone. For the second time in a match Angel had frighteningly exceeded her expectations. Even if she did try to win, it would be an unexpected challenge.

"You have to try!" he barked. "I'm not going to fight you if you're an unworthy opponent. I know you can do better than that because I've seen it with my own eyes."

Liz rubbed her head and exhaled loudly. He was making this more difficult than it should be.

"It's the boots…" she mumbled. "And maybe I don't want to put up a goddamn fight."

"We both know you wouldn't deny a fight even if you were on your deathbed." he retorted. Anger was bubbling up inside the redheaded woman and her fiery temper was about to burst. She clenched her burning fists until her knuckles were white and took a step towards the former Luchadore.

"He can't be worse than Maero…" she thought to herself.

She threw a fierce kick, knocking Angel straight in the stomach. He grunted in pain before grabbing her leg and pinning her down to the ground for the second time. She could feel his exhales tickling her still sore neck, making her shudder ever so slightly. After using all her force to kick again, she rose up to her feet and scowled.

He was forcing her to get crafty.

She got into the stance that she had seen him do countless times; it was the signature stance used to start a proper match. If they were going to wrestle, she decided that they would have to do it right.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Angel asked. The anger and frustration had faded a little from his tone, making him seem a little more approachable.

"Fuck no, but I'm doing it anyway."

She went towards him and positioned her right foot between his legs. Her knee fell to the mat as she lunged forward to grab both of his legs, sending Angel's body over her shoulder. It was one of the most basic wrestling moves she had learned a long time ago from her father: a double leg takedown. Unfortunately, it was the only move she _had_ learned, making the next step feel a little too difficult. Without knowing what to do next, she crouched and held him up without a proper purpose.

Angel pushed himself out of her grip by pushing down on her back. After flipping over and sending her face down into the floor, he pinned her down and counted to three silently.

"_One_…"

Liz squirmed and lifted her arm up to grab at his neck.

"_Two_…"

Impulsively, he threw her hand down onto the mat and put more pressure on her back to keep her down. Her attempts to thrash him off failed quickly.

"_Three_."

Pressure sluggishly found its way out of Liz's back, and she looked up to see Angel standing over her.

"Try harder next time." he said before turning around. He was heading in the direction of his room, and she couldn't be more livid with him.

She got up and felt every part of her body hurting, her neck and forearms taking the most damage. She could also tell that she would have to nurse the pain in her back with a heating pad when she got back to the penthouse.

"That's it? You take me down and now you decide to leave without any kind of rematch?!" Her voice had regained its momentum, but the yelled had already begun to take a toll on her now strained vocal chords.

Angel shrugged and grabbed his worn purple hoodie that was hanging on a nearby punching bag. He threw it over his sweaty body and pushed open the double doors in front of him. As soon as he disappeared, Liz followed him, wanting more.

She slammed the doors back open and raised her voice substantially. His nonchalant attitude about his win infuriated her, and she saw a predictable rematch in their future.

"Get the fuck out of there, Angel; I know you're in there! I'm not going to be a loser!" The sound of a microwave turning on redirected her to his little nook of a bedroom. The difference between his current bedroom and his former one was like night and day.

Angel was sitting on the side of his mattress, staring at his frozen pizza that was in the mini oven. Some of his more important wrestling memorabilia was stashed in the room along with year old trash. The mattress had unknown stains all over it and was nothing compared to the plush California king he had had before. He looked up at her with those chocolate brown eyes she had loved only a few months ago, except the spark seemed to have left them. They looked exactly like the time when she had met him for a second time while fending off Luchadores in the same building. Now his eyes held anger and a large amount of power waiting to be released.

"You lost," he said calmly. "Come back when you're better."

"_When you're better…"_

The words echoed silently in her head. She looked at Angel one more time and nodded before heading back out to the main room of the gym. After taking in the Latino rap that was playing and finding some tape for her fingers, she picked up the deformed punching bag and mounted it properly in the middle of the ring. If she was going to get better, she was going to do it the right way.


End file.
